What's Up! Magazine

Here we have Sir Lucious Left Foot: The Son of Chico Dusty, a weird departure from Earth and its fattened pop society. Big Boi’s first true solo release—legally banned from being associated with Outkast in music—takes to outer space, where gravity bound rules do not apply and where he can build a new solar system of revolving sounds and paradoxes. The album is weighted by external baggage, the shortlist includes critical comparison to Outkast counterpart Andre 3000 and numerous pushbacks and label drama we would hope this veteran would be immune to, but even so we are given an inspiring example of what a through-composed rap album can accomplish.

Big’s sound is refreshingly intentional. He can attack with athletic tongue-twisting action or gritty varied rhythms, adding percussion to synth/bass driven tracks. He can do backflips and ballroom steps for the ladies. At any given moment he can be distant and humorously removed allowing the production to speak for itself or distinct with whispering close-ups or biting social commentary.

He name drops aspect ratios, Sean Kingston, “Billy Jean”, and Talladega Nights. These references don’t reek of narcissism like many self-humored rappers because he doesn’t stop to enjoy his lines or give you the time contemplate. At times, his lyrics function like a self aware story-within-a-story. He controls the speed of songs by telling us they will slow down or speed up, whether he’ll give us a second verse or not, or when we’re about to hear something new. It’s as if the music is really moved by his words, not the other way around.

The temptation with Big Boi is to draw comparison with his other Outkast half, but here, it is more illustrative to compare him to the provocative, forward momentum of Ice T, Bone Thugs-n-Harmony, or RZA. These otherworldly rap figures defined an innovative moment in hip-hop history by pushing the perceived and accepted boundaries of the genre. Simply put, they shocked people. What’s shocking about Sir Luscious Left Foot is how it reads like a novel or a meticulously crafted miniature model of New Atlanta, a city to be colonized in a galaxy far, far away. Tracks are layered heavily with sonic plaster and tricks making them palpable and hearty. The usual suspects include whistles, claps, and pitch-adjusted vocals. The unusual suspects include a salsa skit, spoken word by Big Rube, Hendrixian guitars, talkboxes, flangers, vocoders, and synthesizers galore. This is what 1980s funk would sound like if P-funk, Prince, or Afrika Bambaataa had access to today’s sound production technology. We hear it on the first track, cutting deep with a brief Kill Bill meets D’Angelo Wah Wah overture with Big voicing what you were thinking all along, “Damn, and that ain’t nothin’ but the intro.”

What’s even more shocking is that this album and its foundation are built on contradictions and illogicalities, that don’t negate each other but build outward. One moment, we are transfixed by the choo-chooing bounce of “Daddy Fat Sax” and then “Turns Me On” makes us sweat unabashedly with dripping lyrics like “sit yourself down on the big old bed / Turn your body ‘round here, let me give you some [sound effect].” Then “Follow Us” hits with acoustic rock vocals and reminds us of infamously silly collabos like Chris Martin on Kanye’s “Homecoming” and Matthew Santos on Lupe’s “Superstar.” Even more incongruous than the production, is the context that we are supposed to understand the album. “Shine Blockas” is a southern fried spitfire calling out haters in the traditional sense (plus organ line and phasing sound). “Be Still” is a spacey electronic swan song, an ultimatum for a relationship on the rocks, “Treat it like a perm / Let it be or let it burn.”

Like the dirtiest of crunk rapstars that our social elite criticize, he is a self-aggrandizing, pot-prophaghandist, sex-machine. But just the same, the whole album highlights the absurdity of all these traits. These “bad” rap traits are self-referential, never taking the situation too seriously, and equally matched by fiery, socio-political critiques of New Orleans, Big Brother, and US drug policy. “Tangerine” is a sexual romp in the style of famous dance move progenitors like “You’re a Jerk” or “Crank That (Soulja Boy)” or even “Mashed Potato Time.” But this is given away by the mischievous, tip-toeing beat and conflated, tongue-tied lines. It’s fun, funny, and a weird single. T.I. rants in nonsensical sex jargon and lists off lady names like Lou Bega or the Ying Yang Twins. The handful of skits on the album about sex, drugs, and bro jokes (all of which would make for an uncomfortable listening experience with family) undermine seriousness, like potty humor in a public address. All of his contradictions are infused with energy. Unlike those that try to define some arbitrary distinguishing features between hip-hop and rap (the former being a high-culture form, the later being crunk, pop radio, gangsta, etc.), for Big, there is no distinction. They are all part of his diverse artistic landscape and history.

Sir Luscious Left Foot is composed of elemental music forces: funky, sex-jam; irreverent club banger; and weird electro-space rock fantasy. He employs the sixteen years he has under his space-belt as rapper and producer to reach out to disparate figures that share coolness as their lowest denominator. A quick glance at the track-listing shows guest spots from past Outkast affiliates Organized Noise’s Sleepy Brown and Vonnegut and big-timers T.I., Jamie Foxx, and B.o.B. Delving further into the liner notes reveals increasingly pleasant and baffling features from Oakland wonder Too $hort, breakout neo-soul revivalist Janelle Monae, up & comer Yelawolf, production from Lil Jon, growling Gucci Mane, and the funk-freakadelic George Clinton.

These are not quid pro quo back scratching tracks but instead a careful selection of talent from artists who seem to feed off of Big Boi. Lil Jon’s beat on “Hustle Blood” is uncharacteristically dialed in and never overtakes Jamie Foxx’s composure or Big’s bounce. Foxx glides smoothly with verse and chorus in his best impression of R. Kelly and flips hushed rhythmic patterns as if taking notes from Sir Luscious himself. “Be Still”, utilizes Janelle Monae’s vocals with thick brush-strokes, like Jill Scott on “Daydreamin’”. The ethereal chorus creates openness that’s filled by Big’s detached vocal doubling and backbeat snare. “Fo Yo Sorrows” follows, making George Clinton sound right at home with orange hair and braids as honorary Purple Ribbon Allstar member. Too $hort’s cameo and his Jesse Jackson shout out makes this smoker anthem complete and begs for a dancehall remix.

Thankfully, Sir Luscious Left Foot is distinctly devoid of help-needed and hater-ammunition. In our wildest dreams, we can only hope space is not the final frontier and Big Boi can go farther and come out sooner with his next follow-up, Daddy Fat Sax: Soul Funk Crusader.

-Hunter Motto